


Double Mint Gum

by Sintero



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Shameless PWP, Threesome, Wade's alternate Earth self, and sex...mostly sex, pet names abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:36:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6357316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintero/pseuds/Sintero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade decides that only one of his fine-ass self just isn't enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a drabble request that just kept going until it reached one-shot territory and then exploded all over a PWP. 
> 
> Enjoy, and blame Staubengel. :D

Peter stepped wearily into his apartment and ran his fingers through his already haphazard hair. Stop the presses, it was official, Jameson was the world’s foremost asshole. “Pay cut, my ass,” Peter grumbled as he absently set his camera bag on the counter. Luckily, Wade was off on some job or another and not due back for another night or so, leaving Peter with a solid 24 hours to wallow in self-pity.

He went through the familiar motions of a Deadpool-free evening: staring blankly into the depths of his fridge hoping that something would cook itself, grabbing a granola bar instead, and resigning himself to a perfunctory jerk off in the shower. Simple. Easy.

Still dripping, he wrapped a threadbare towel around his hips and draped another over his head as he made his way down the short hall to his bedroom. He let loose a litany of colorfully inventive curses as he inevitably slammed into the doorframe whilst drying his hair.

“Well, well, looks like Kitten Pickles has a mouth on him,” Wade’s voice, deeper than usual, floated through the towel.

“Jesus!” Peter exclaimed, tearing the towel off of his head and miraculously managing not to jump onto the wall. “I thought you were gone until tomorrow? And…why exactly are you naked in my bed?”

Wade laughed from his languid repose and pointedly ran a finger down his scar-pocked chest to where his cock laid long and heavy at the apex of his muscular abdomen. “Is that any way to greet your loooveeer,” he retorted, drawing out the word in a way that was absolutely filthy. He gave his dick a lazy stroke. “And really, I would have thought that the reason would be obvious, Poopsy Doodles.”

Something was different. Wade’s behavior was far too confident and controlled, his mouth far too civil.

Peter canted his head, eyebrows rising nearly to his hairline, and watched the progression of Wade’s hand, at a loss for words. The swollen cock head that rhythmically appeared above Wade’s fist was hypnotizing and made Peter salivate in a way that could only be described as Pavlovian.

Subconsciously wetting his lips, he shuffled towards the bed.

“Have you been working out?” he asked blankly, finally tearing his gaze away from the tempting slide of foreskin to in turn map the chiseled expanse of Wade’s body with his eyes. Seriously, Wade’s lats were big enough to make lying down look downright painful.

Before Deadpool could abort his deep laughter and wheeze out a response, a resounding “Baby Boy!” echoed through the hall.

Peter spun in place, panicking, but not fast enough to avoid the red and black mountain of muscle and spandex that landed on his back. Wade, mask-less, grinned and placed a kiss on Peter’s cheek. “Did you miss us? We missed you as much as tacos!” he pronounced, oblivious to the rising panic in Peter’s expression.

“What the hell?” Peter exploded, using his super-strength to launch the newcomer clear across the room. The two Wades laughed in unison, only differentiable by tone.

“Jesus, Petey, you’ve been eating your Wheaties,” the still clothed version said with a grin, pulling his shoulders out of the wall and absently brushing the plaster from his head. On the bed, Wade’s hulked out body double wasn’t the least bit dissuaded from his solo mission.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, fortifying breath. His knuckles were white where he clutched the towel like a lifeline to sanity. “Alright, pretend I have no idea what is going on here and explain to me why there are two of you in as few words as possible,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

Fully-clothed-Wade put his hands up in the universal sign for surrender and kitten GIFs and slowly approached Peter.

“Hey, hey, hey, Baby Boy. I had to do some serious fourth wall breaking bullshit for this last mission. I’m not even exaggerating; it was like bringing-back-the-old-cast-of-Full-House-without-the-Olsen-Twins levels of bullshit.”

The sound of poly-cotton fibers tearing in Peter’s fist managed to speed up the retelling.

“So anyways, I ran into this asshole on Earth eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-nine and was like ‘holy shit, Baby Boy would love this!’ Because what’s better than getting railed by one sexy red-and-black antihero?” Wade paused expectantly, rolling his wrist.

A raised eyebrow was the only response he received.

“That’s right, a Deadpool sandwich complete with hot, toasty buns and a generous helping of two meat patties!”

Wade’s doppelganger laughed uproariously from where he continued to recline on a mountain of pillows like the Greek god of masturbation. Sighing heavily, Peter made his way over to his dresser drawer and braced his arms against it. He glared at the whorled pattern of wood beneath his fists and focused on breathing until he was calm enough to face himself in the mirror.

“Alright, so this is a thing that is decidedly not happening. You and The Brawny Man over there can kindly screw off and out of my apartment,” he finally pronounced to his own reflection, staring at his dripping hair and taking another deep, fortifying breath.

How Wade on any Earth could have thought this was a good idea was beyond him.

Without warning, preternaturally warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind as Wade leaned in close enough to press a kiss against Peter’s damp neck. “But I missed you so fucking much, Petey Pie,” Wade crooned in his ear. “And to show my appreciation, I figured, what with it being two for one night at the sausage factory, we could really put the DP in Deadpool.”

“Put the DP in…? Are you serious right now? I can barely tolerate the one!” Peter exploded, immediately regretting his outburst as he watched the reflection of Wade’s sultry smile fall in stages.

“Ouch,” Wade began, only to falter and stumble over his words.

It had been so long since Peter had heard that particular note of despondent wretchedness in his partner’s voice that it drew him up short. “No, no, no, no, that’s not what I meant, Wade,” he assured quickly, spinning in place and pressing an apologetic kiss to Wade’s chin.

“Ugh, no, of course you don’t have to go. I realize that, from you, this is actually a really sweet gesture. But can you please give a guy some warning before throwing inter-dimensional sex clones on his bed?” he quipped with a wry grin, reaching up to take hold of Wade’s crestfallen face between both hands. They stood there for a long, tense moment until, with a heavy sigh, Peter reached up to drape his arms across Wade’s taunt shoulders and pull him in. They shared a tender kiss during which the precariously hanging towel took the opportunity to slip from Peter’s hips and pool at his feet with the wistful sigh of a lazy plot device.

“Alright, so what’s our friendly, neighborhood masturbator’s name?” Peter asked in defeat, murmuring the question against Wade’s chapped lips and pointedly not looking at the debacle of a man bent on defacing the bed linens.

The bulky clone shifted against the pillows and stretched his body into a graceful S-curve that showcased the lines of his narrow waist and broad shoulders. He didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes lingered. “Your Wade and I have agreed that for the duration of this little dimensional jump I’ll be known as Code Name Cock Gobbler to avoid the confusion. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Peter,” he said, far too bemused by the proceedings.

“Cock Gobbler? Seriously? Oh, take me now,” Peter retorted, deadpan, as he continued to take comfort in the heat of Wade’s body. If he was completely honest with himself, being double teamed by two Wades sounded pretty amazing, and they _had_ discussed the possibility prior. A little warning would have been nice though.

Depositing one last tender kiss on his cheek, Peter released Wade’s shoulders without a thought towards modesty.

Code Name Cock Gobbler pushed off of his elbows and scooted towards the side of the bed with arms outstretched. His muscular arms were corded like steel cables and striped with vivid, silvery cords of scar tissue from wounds that apparently even an advanced healing factor couldn’t erase. “Alright, does that mean ya’ll are through with the domestics? ‘Cause I’ve got a raging boner with your name on it, kid. So, come-on, Puddin’ Knickers, come give Daddypool a kiss.”

“Oh my god, you’re kind of a creepy asshole,” Peter replied incredulously, arms akimbo and head cocked.

A stray water droplet meandered down the length of his lithe body and CG tracked its progress unabashedly, eyes lingering on the profile of Peter’s tight buttocks. “Yeah? Well can you blame me, Fluff Butt? I mean, really, you put the ‘ass’ in ‘sass,” he retorted with a wicked leer.

Peter made no effort to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Dude, I’m about two seconds away from slapping that smug grin right off of your face.”

“Mmm, come and get it you little shit,” CG growled in challenge.

And in that instant, all of Peter’s reservations evaporated like morning dew. He knew how to handle hate sex; that was something achingly familiar, but typically reserved for Tuesday nights. And it _was_ essentially just Wade. An even more beefy, alarmingly perceptive Wade, but Wade nonetheless.

The sound of cracking knuckles and grinding teeth heralded the first heated step that Peter made towards the bed. But, before he could get there, his boyfriend went sailing past, miraculously nude, and tackled his alternate Earth incarnation with a ridiculous battle cry of “Told you he’d be dee-tee-eff!”

Peter froze in mid-stride and raised an eyebrow at the miles of scarred limbs currently tangled in his bed spread. Their raucous laughter echoed throughout the apartment.

While initially opposed, Peter couldn’t help but to grin at the ridiculous display. The care-free cheer splitting Wade’s face nearly in half was worth ignoring the mild aversion he had towards the thought of clones.

“I don’t think,” Peter began, only for Wade to smack his alternate self in the face with a heavy pillow and tug him into the writhing mass of super-heated muscle.

And dicks.

His face abruptly landed in front of Wade’s crotch, a position that was admittedly familiar, but the simultaneous feel of questing fingertips and a too-large hand kneading his buttocks was not.

“Hey there, Petey-pie, see something you like?” Wade teased, settling his bent knees more firmly against the mattress and giving his erect cock a couple of languid strokes in front of Peter’s nose. The smell of him was almost soothing, the accustomed scent of gunpowder, musk, and strangely enough, tacos.

The ceaseless commentary Peter could really do without, though.

“So that’s it, eh? Just gonna’ get right to it? God forbid Wade Wilson in any dimension figures out what foreplay is,” he stated conversationally to the swollen cock taking up most of his view.

A joyful chorus of “Yep!” rose up from above him.

Rolling his eyes, defeated, Peter inched forward and dragged his tongue up the underside of Wade’s dick in one broad stroke. The resultant sharp intake of breath was enough for Peter to ignore the oddity of the situation and coax himself into returning to the base of Wade’s shaft.

There, he alternately laved and suckled his way along the thick vein and up towards the junction of shaft and glans. The generous dribble of precome was thick and bitter on his tongue as he worshipped Wade’s swollen cock head. However, before he was able to hollow his cheeks to give that glorious dick the show of devotion it deserved, alarmingly strong hands grabbed his hips and wrenched him back.

The motion put Peter effectively kneeling between CG’s splayed legs, his feet pinned beneath the man’s balls and buttocks. The doppelganger took advantage of the new position to insistently rub his own erection along the furrow of Peter’s spine.

“The fuck, man?” Wade groaned at the loss of Peter’s mouth.

“What? You were about to commit the most heinous of party fouls. You need to position the ass first, then fill up the mouth. This is literally the only context in which it’s appropriate to go from ass to mouth,” he informed them with a smile so beatific it bordered on illegal.

Wade’s boisterous laughter filled the room. “Got it, Boss. You heard the man, Baby Boy, spread those cheeks!”

“Okay, seriously? Objection! Who the hell died and made him the judge, jury, and sexecutioner?” Peter scoffed.

“Your lack of self-respect?” CG retorted with a sly grin.

Scowl set firmly in place, Peter wrenched the Doppelganger down by the neck and tried to smear that smooth confidence away with a brutal kiss. Their tongues clashed and teeth clicked together in a feud fueled more by the need to establish dominance than for pleasure.

Before long, however, they seamlessly slotted together and stole each other’s breath.

Peter was the one to break the kiss first, collapsing back against CG’s firm chest and looking absolutely wrecked. The doppelganger bit his ear lobe admonishingly and growled. “Objection overruled.”

“Yeah, yeah. The Defense rests,” Peter panted in defeat as he squirmed wantonly and allowed CG to suckle a necklace of dark bruises along his shoulders and collarbone.

For Wade, the temptation was too much to bear. He leaned forward to softly cup Peter’s jaw in one hand and angle his face to better run his wet tongue along his partner’s swollen lips. Their combined sigh was soft and sweet. With a gentle tug, Wade deepened the kiss and slid his tongue against Peter’s, the movement sensual and slow in direct opposition to his alternate self. Behind them, CG groaned and reached between their writhing bodies to finally engulf Peter’s cock in one broad palm.

The rough patches of callus and mottled skin provided an absolutely decadent texture that Peter couldn’t help but to instinctively buck into. Precome dribbled into the space between his dick and CG’s palm, but it wasn’t nearly enough to provide any relief from the overwhelming friction.

Wade broke the kiss, breathing heavily and braced his arms on Peter’s knees. “You ready for more, babe?”

“Do it,” Peter said huskily, licking a trail of saliva from his lips and spreading his thighs wide for better access.

“The safe word is Mjolnir,” the massive man behind him whispered, voice dangerously sensual. The telltale pop of a lubricant cap went unheard due to the pounding of blood in Peter’s ears.

“Fuck, I can’t even pronounce that,” he responded, clutching CG’s thigh perhaps a bit harder than he meant to.

“Good.”

CG abruptly grabbed a hot handful of buttock and kneaded it until Peter’s jaw dropped. The groan of approval from Wade was accompanied by his tentatively probing finger. Lube slick, he circumlocutiously stroked around Peter’s hole.

It was just a test, really, to gauge Peter’s consent. Though, the gesture was entirely unnecessary if the enthusiastic way he pressed back on the slick digit was anything to go by. Wade leaned in, molding their bodies together, and slotted his mouth onto Peter’s neck as well, cheek to cheek with his alternate self. Bucking against the slick cleft of buttocks before him, CG joined him in taking Peter apart.

There are so many overwhelming sensations flitting across Peter’s body that his brain was entirely incapable of distinguishing between the two near-identical men. Arousal rose hot and heavy within him, radiating from his cheeks in a delicate blush. Beads of sweat lubricated the space between their bodies.

When an anonymous hand caressed his scrotum, gooseflesh rippled across his skin and distracted Peter even further from the dumbass reality of having a ménage a trois with his boyfriend’s inter-dimensional sex clone.

That same hand slid further back and suddenly there were two slick digits vying to press into him, ultimately agreeing to go together. The burning ache of dutiful preparation teetered between too much and not enough, drawing out a moan so deep that it curled Peter’s toes where they were wedged beneath CG’s scrotum and buttocks.

“Fuuuuck, Baby Boy,” someone groaned. It must have been Wade, Peter thought. CG was much more imaginative in the pronouncement of his pet names.

In what felt like seconds, but was likely much, much longer, Other-Wade deemed Peter prepared sufficiently. Two sets of powerful arms lifted him as if he weighed nothing and positioned him over CG’s lap. His descent onto the heated cockhead was slow and controlled, but the cognitive ability to stop and appreciate the casual show of strength petered out long ago.

Inch by swollen inch was consumed by Peter’s desperate body until the burn of CG’s generous girth threatened to drive him mad.

It was only with monumental effort that he was able to convince his fluttering eyes to open and take in the intoxicating image of his partner. Watching with bated breath, Wade cut a fine figure: lips swollen and red, eyes wide, and cock standing tall against his toned stomach.

However, there was little time for appreciation.

CG savagely bit his own lip to cage in the guttural whine that threatened to break free, the taste of blood heavy on his tongue as he sunk in fully.

“Now, Wade,” he managed to choke out.

With that, Wade resumed his kneeling position and guided Peter’s mouth down to his aching dick until the lithe man resembled a bowing penitent, spitted on an altar of flesh and desire.

It was only when Peter was all but gagging on Wade’s girthy shaft that they begin in earnest.

Like a well-practiced military maneuver, the two mercenaries seamlessly synchronized their movements such that the rhythmic press of cocks allowed for Peter to focus more fully on the thrust of one, then the other. The wet slapping of bodies measured the time like a lewd metronome.

CG pistoned his hips with reckless abandon, thrusts so powerful that Peter’s spine ached. Each drag of the ribbed cock within him incited an overload of sensation that had him clenching his jaw and clawing at the sheets.

Though he sincerely tried to bring his well-honed talents to bear, Peter’s mouth on Wade’s cock was artless. The sensation in and around him was too much to allow for any kind of focus or finesse. And when CG knowingly changed the angle of his hips to better stimulate his prostate, Peter was lost.

The heavy weight of hands and bodies pressed him down far enough that the defiled bed spread brushed his swinging balls with each stroke and partially wrapped around his thrumming shaft.

It was entirely too much.

Far sooner than he would have liked, Peter broke the merciless rhythm and savagely spitted himself further on CG’s dick, pulling Wade’s hips forward so that his cock stayed firmly embedded. Fire exploded through his loins and raced up his spine, causing his back to arch and sphincter to pulse. The poor bed linens were streaked with such a voluminous amount of release that it rolled down into the press of mattress where his knees rested.

CG came soon after with a hissed expletive, Wade with a scream.

The tang of salt and bitterness assailed Peter’s tongue, which he swallowed eagerly while he simultaneously bore down and milked the last pulses from the dick in his ass.

As one, they collapsed to the bed in a boneless pile, heedless of the mess.

“Fuuuuck,” CG managed to groan between heaving breaths. Wade and Peter could only nod their agreement.

After a long moment of enjoying the warm simplicity of post-coital bliss, Wade managed to reposition the three of them such that he won the position of man-in the middle and Peter’s little spoon. It was like Christmas arrived early if the contented little smile was anything to go by.

Peter had to admit, it was comfortable nuzzling into the heat of Wade’s body with CG’s massive arm bracketing them both.

But, with Wade being Wade, the comfortable silence didn’t last for long.

“Baby Boy, can we keep Cock Gobbler? Please, oh please, oh please? I promise I’ll feed him, take him for walks, make sure he doesn’t shit on the carpet…”

Peter squirmed just enough to lift his mouth from the crook of Wade’s neck and absently pat CG’s deltoid.

“Mmm, no. And, I do hope you two realize that you missed a real alliterative opportunity in not calling him Magic Mike,” he muttered sleepily.

“Mother fucker!” Wade and CG exclaimed as one.

Grinning, Peter burrowed further into their combined warmth.


	2. It's Rude to Talk with Your Mouth Full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Code Name Cock Gobbler and a food-truck's worth of Tex-mex stop by for an impromptu visit. (Peter Parker/CG-oral)

Peter made his way through the kitchen in nothing but boxers, intent on planting himself on the sofa, nursing a mug of coffee, and growing roots for the rest of the afternoon. Sunlight filtered in through the windows of his small living room and he paused to savor the warm carpet beneath his feet.

Waking from his blissful reverie, he strode towards the oversized, red couch. But, before he went much further, he was drawn up short by a pair of muddy boots perched on the arm rest. With a sigh of resignation, he stepped around the couch and glared down at his languidly reclined boyfriend, sans mask and, inexplicably, the lower half of his costume top.

“Wade, seriously?” he groaned, one hand on his hip. A veritable mountain of chimichangas and tacos threatens to topple off of Peter’s diminutive coffee table.

“Hey, Kitten Pickles! Long time, no see!” the figure called out in pleasant surprise. Peter’s Spidey-sense pinged alarmingly in the back of his mind. That’s wasn’t Wade.

“No. Absolutely not. This is so many levels of not happening right now,” Peter moaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wait, does Wade know you’re here, Code Name Douche Nozzel?”

“It’s ‘Code Name Cock Gobbler!’ Jesus, Peter, it’s only been like two weeks, you’d think I made a more lasting impression that _that_ ,” CG retorted with a lazy smile. “But, yeah. Other-me is just finishing up a job, said he’d be back in another hour or so.” He yawned and stretched hugely before finally pulling himself upright on the sofa. It was difficult for Peter not to appreciate the bulge of CG’s abdominals as what was left of his costume rode up past his ribs.

He rubbed a hand over his face to hide the rising blush, ignorant of CG’s hooded glance and knowing grin.

“Fine. Any reason in particular why you decided to grace me with your oh-so-charming presence?” he asked offhandedly with every ounce of vitriol that he could manage. Which, at this hour in the morning, was surprisingly little.

“Thanos is causing shit back on my Earth. I figured I’d pop in and be a hero for a bit, but then some blue bitch tore a nice chunk out of my stomach and I just said ‘fuck it’ and came here instead,” CG said with a shrug of his massive shoulders.

“Well, I guess that explains the belly shirt. But shouldn’t you be…you know…helping them, or something?” Peter retorted, snark oozing between each syllable as he absently shoved CG’s boots off of the armrest and took his place next to the mercenary on the sofa.

Smirking, CG sat up and scooted even closer under the guise of reaching for a taco.

“Me? Nah. Earth 17 Deadpool was bored and wanted to knock some heads. So I told him to go for it. Apocalypses sound fun in theory, but then you realize that, in practice, there are no food trucks. Kinda puts a damper on the whole shtick,” CG drawled, somehow managing to sink further into the sofa cushions as if he had invented the concept of the wide-leg sprawl.

Peter grunted in agreement and returned his attention to the television set. They sat in companionable silence, knees brushing as they watched Blanch regale Dorothy with her latest conquests.

The pile of Tex-Mex began to disappear at an alarming rate.

“Wanna chimichanga?” CG asked off-handedly, offering the unwrapped mass of fried dough and cheese. Juice dripped down his fingers into the fabric of the couch.

Peter eyed the brown splotches that were sure to stain. “Yeah.”

However, before he could retrieve the spicy treat, the dimensional clone lazily drawled “Too bad” and promptly shoved the entire thing in his own mouth.

“You do realize that you’re a royal asshole, right?” Peter asked, frowning. He didn’t admit it aloud, but Wade’s double had a pretty impressive mouth.

“Yeah, but you love it,” CG managed to mumble after a moment of chewing.

They both turned back to watch _The Golden Girls_. As the ending credits rolled, Peter shifted just the slightest bit closer so that more than just their knees pressed against each other. The leather of CG’s costume appeared to bulge at the seams from the shear amount of muscle squeezed into it. How the man could even put the thing on was a mystery to Peter, but not nearly as much as how to get him _out._

The mercenary stared pointedly at where their thighs were touching and raised a brow. “You’re tempting fate here, Kitten Pickles,” he warned.

“You want a blow job?” Peter asked flippantly in return without diverting his attention away from the television. CG’s broad smile was evident even in his periphery.

He stared for a long moment, considering.

“Yeah, sure. Why not? Wade ain’t gonna be upset though if I tap his Baby Boy?” he asked in a surprising show of conscience.

Despite his appreciation for the sentiment, Peter couldn’t help but laugh. “What? God, no. You’re on both of our ‘free pass’ lists. If anything he’ll be pissed he missed out.”

“Hmmm…good to know,” CG responded, thoughtful. Slowly enough for Peter to back out, the mercenary leaned over and pulled him in by the nape of his neck. The kiss was tentative at first, just the brush of chapped lips. Then CG took his jaw in one massive hand and squeezed hard enough to make Peter open his mouth on reflex.

“You’ve got to be able to open up more than that if you want to deep fry this chimichanga, Parker,” he said as he teasingly swiped his thumb across Peter’s bottom lip.

Without a word, Peter dove forward and diligently sucked the mottled thumb into his mouth. CG’s skin was slick with the remnants of grease and the lingering smell of taco spice that reminded him of Wade with a pang of fondness. His boyfriend had been deployed on so many missions recently that touching the doppelganger like this made his throat tight.

Returning his focus to the task at hand, Peter dipped his tongue into each ribbed pock mark and swirled around the pad of CG’s thumb. His eyes fluttered shut as he hollowed his cheeks and allowed himself to slip into the fantasy of it all.

CG’s growling groan above him was all the encouragement he needed. The man’s easy confidence and strength was a heady aphrodisiac.

The mercenary slid his digit out of Peter’s mouth, lingering perhaps a bit little longer than absolutely necessary. Peter noted the heavy rise and fall of his chest and the way his pupils dilated enough to eclipse his irises in full. Being the object of this single-minded focus was a little alarming, but the inherent danger only served to make Peter’s erection strain even more forcibly against his boxers.

“Wow, kid,” CG responded simply.

The freely given praise bolstered Peter’s confidence. With deft fingers, he pulled down the hidden zipper of CG’s fly just enough to free the massive erection straining beneath the layers of leather. The mercenary sighed in relief and sunk into the couch, enjoying the feel of Peter’s skin on his aching cock.

After allowing himself a minute to bask in the teasing strokes, he knocked Peter’s hands out the way and lifted his hips to peel the tight costume bottoms all the way down. They stayed trapped in the tops of his boots. No abashed modesty here, Peter thought wryly. He licked his lips and took a moment to admire the way CG’s cock bowed under its own weight and smeared precome into the scars on his stomach.

“Well, it’s not going to suck itself,” the mercenary drawled with a pointed thrust of his hips.

“Easy there, Casanova. Any more sweet talk like that and I may swoon,” Peter retorted, rolling his eyes. Despite his aloof tone, Peter eagerly sunk to his knees.

He reached out and tested the weight and girth of CG’s dick against his palm, curling his fingers around the pocked skin and giving a few tentative pulls. The skin didn’t stretch like Peter’s own, or even Wade’s. Whatever elasticity there should have been was restricted by the shiny rifts of scar tissue that meandered all across CG’s body. The excitement of new discovery coaxed Peter onward.

He eagerly leaned forward to explore with more than just his hands. Lips pursed, he suckled along the flare of the glans, paying particular attention to the bundle of nerves where the ridges met. He pressed his tongue there, hard, and stroked up to the rounded head with a soft flick. CG’s thighs trembled beneath Peter’s hands where they were braced against the mercenary’s quads.

A single drop of precome stood out like a pearl in the filtered morning light. It was almost poetic that it tasted like brine as Peter swallowed it down with one broad sweep of his tongue.

CG savagely grit his teeth against the overwhelming sensation of Peter’s gentle ministrations and was finally able to calm the telling tremor. Though, his resolve was tested when the kid began to take him, inch by swollen inch, into the warm sanctity of his mouth. Peter reveled in the heavy weight of CG’s cock on his tongue and the resultant ache in his jaw. He couldn’t help but to grind his own erection into the side of the sofa to dampen the insistent press of his own need.

With long, sure strokes, he set up a lewd rhythm of sucking squelches and wrapped one hand around the base of CG’s dick as an assist.

Finally able to weather the sudden conflagration of arousal taking up residence in his loins, CG casually returned his arms onto the back of the sofa and clicked through the channels in rapid succession.

Taking it as the challenge it was, Peter hollowed his cheeks and redoubled his efforts. His tongue slid against the thick vein beneath CG’s shaft. The motion wasn’t as elegantly smooth as he would like; CG’s skin had a bit more topography than Wade’s. But he learned quickly to instead undulate his tongue in time with firm, rhythmic sucks. The harder he went, the quicker the mercenary fell apart beneath him.

The remote dropped from CG’s limp fingers and broke apart on the floor with a clatter.

Without interrupting the steady bobbing of his head, Peter reached up to simultaneously knead CG’s toned ass in one hand and roll the heavy mass of his scrotum in the other. Everything about this version of Wade was so much bigger in terms of physicality.

Unable to continue his feigned disinterest, CG’s head dropped back and his muscular buttocks clenched beneath Peter’s fingers.

He was close.

CG shifted on the sofa in order to card his fingers through Peter’s hair, but the kid’s head bobbed too quickly for the mercenary to match the rhythm in the haze of building orgasm. The bitter taste of precome flooded Peter’s mouth and hit the back of his throat, potent enough to gag.

 _This is it_ , Peter thought.

He rolled CG’s scrotum in his palm and swept a finger firmly against his perineum. Like a magic button, the motion pushed CG over the precipice. His muscular arms flexed with the force of his restraint. Even so, he still couldn’t help but to shove Peter down until his nose was pressed flat against the merc’s abdominals.

An absolute deluge of come shot down Peter’s throat, but he barely noticed as he fought for air that wouldn’t come. Starbursts exploded before his eyes and his stomach heaved in an attempt to draw breath that wasn’t there. It felt like forever until the last pulse of CG’s massive dick heralded the slick withdrawal of his cock.

Peter immediately dropped to his hands and knees, coughing and choking down lungfuls of air. The bright red flush on his cheeks and the strings of spittle hanging from his lips painted a delicious portrait of decadence and debauchery.

CG couldn’t help but collapse against the armrest and laugh breathily at the sight.

Finally, Peter regained his wind sufficiently to glare up at him. “You sir, are not just a royal asshole, but the reigning king of all assholes. The Emperor Palpatine of cock-waffles. The…” Peter began, raising his voice with each statement until he accidentally choked on his own spit and the remnants of come. CG guffawed even harder.

The bolt on the front door slammed back with a sharp click and Deadpool stepped tentatively into his apartment, gun drawn.

"Sup, Wade. There's a whole food-truck's worth of tacos and chimis if you're down for it," Cock Gobbler greeted him with a jovial wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next will be Wade/Peter/CG. Hooray smut. ;D


	3. Buy One Get One Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade comes home to his two favorite stocking stuffers.

Wade’s hand was steady as he pulled the trigger with practiced ease and lodged three .357 magnums right into his doppelganger’s stomach. The sharp retort of the gunshots resounded throughout the apartment, loud enough to make Peter go momentarily deaf as he dove to the carpet and protectively shielded his head.

When the tinnitus wore off, he glanced up. Wade was standing in the doorway, backlit like an avenging angel, and blowing at the curl of smoke rising from the muzzle of his Desert Eagle while Code-Name-Cock-Gobbler flinched, but otherwise remained unphased.

“Jesus, Wade! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Peter yelled indignantly from his haphazard sprawl on the floor. He winced against the sharp spike of anxiety as his Spidey-sense went haywire.

Both of the mercenaries ignored his outburst in favor of staring each other down.

“Well, good to fucking see you too, Biscuit Dimples,” CG drawled. His healing factor had reacted so quickly to the insult that the fragmented bits of lead were pressed out of his wound and launched with enough force to land on the coffee table amidst the taco wrappers. There wasn’t even a smattering of blood on his skin to denote the bullets’ entry point.

Secretly impressed, Wade cleared his throat and met CG’s challenging stare. “Oh, don’t give me that horse shit. I told you to chill on the roof, not sneak into my apartment like the Hamburgler and force yourself on my sweet, innocent little Petey-pie!”

CG rolled his eyes.

“Innocent my ass. Hoover Express Vac here pretty much forced those dick sucking lips on my unsuspecting cock. I was powerless to resist their pull. I mean, look at him,” he explained while stroking his still half-hard cock with one hand and absently motioning towards Peter with the other.

Wade looked down at his boyfriend, still prostrate on the floor and showcasing endless miles of slender leg and pristine, pale skin. His cheeks were flushed and his lips hung slightly parted, swollen and pink. Finally, Wade nodded in sympathy.

“Oh, gotcha. Well shit, why didn’t you just say so in the first place? Woulda saved me some ammo,” he muttered, then shoved his massive pistol back into its holster and calmly shut the door behind him as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The neighbors were used to it by now.

“You have no idea how much I hate you both right now,” Peter muttered darkly. He slowly made his way onto his knees and shot CG a filthy glare. Finally, the agonizing warning bells in his head died down into no more than the faint buzz that was always present around Wade’s double.

With a huff of laughter, Wade leaned down to plant a masked kiss to the top of his head, then collapsed into the recently vacated spot on the couch. “Mmm. Missed you, Baby Boy.”

“Yeah? How about we save the sweet nothings for when I can actually hear them?” Peter retorted, pointedly wiggling a finger in one of his ears. Though, his small, satisfied smile didn’t go unnoticed by either mercenary.

Wade rolled his eyes beneath the mask and patted one muscular thigh. “Would you stop playing coy and get up here already? Daddypool needs a kiss.” He puckered up his lips beneath the mask and began making wet smacking sounds.

“Okay, but I’ve got conditions, the first one being that don’t you ever call yourself that again,’” Peter began.

While Peter vehemently laid out his terms for joining them on the couch, CG reached over and began the task of deftly unbuckling Wade’s gear. A sundry of weapons, munitions, and pouches wound up being toed beneath the coffee table until Wade seemed nearly bare despite the full-body suit.

Meanwhile, Wade tore off his mask in order to summarily dismiss all of Peter’s demands with monosyllabic responses and a shit-eating grin.

“Fine, can you at least go wash up first?” Peter grunted petulantly.

“No can do, Baby-boy. Just sit back, relax, and revel in the musky scent of my man-marinade,” he retorted, arms outstretched.

“You are so gross. How is this my life?” Peter sighed, though his fond smile eased the sting of his words. He crawled over to the couch and settled himself astride Wade’s lap, enjoying the preternatural warmth against his inner thighs and chest. “Here I am. Now, what do you want?” Wade’s responding embrace smelled like ash and ozone, meaty, but not unpleasant. He kissed Peter’s temple with a loud smack of his lips. But, before he could answer, a low rumble sounded in Peter’s other ear as CG stealthily leaned in to answer for them both. “Everything.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound ominous in any way,” Peter drawled as he buried his face in Wade’s muscular neck and glared sidelong. “But I guess this is as good a place to start as any.” With that, he angled his hips and dragged the warm weight of his scrotum and buttocks more fully against Wade’s crotch. The thin layers of cotton and spandex between them were inconsequential.

With a strangled sound, half laugh, half groan, Wade ground his hips up against the softness pressing down against his lap. “Less talky, more fucky,” he whined petulantly, bucking to get his point across. Peter calmed him with a kiss. The light brush of lips deepened slowly and with far more control than expected.

While the couple was distracted, CG kicked off his boots and pants, remaining in only his half-shirt, then repositioned himself to perch on the coffee table. He then began sliding Peter’s shirt up to reveal his lean back. The mercenary’s massive hands lingered at the delicate taper of his waist, and CG couldn’t help but note that his fingertips only had a few inches between them when stretched wide around the circumference of his body. “Oh to be a twinky, to be America's favorite snack cake,” he crooned in the dulcet tones of animated Garfield the Cat. Peter wrenched away from the heated kiss and turned to stare at CG incredulously. “Did you seriously just…?” he began, only for Wade to interrupt his building tirade by wrenching his shirt off the rest of the way. “Less talky, more fucky,” he repeated petulantly.

Peter took a deep, fortifying breath and let the twink comment drop, instead lifting himself onto his knees in order to wrangle his boxers down. Tired of watching Peter curse and struggle from the awkwardness of the position, Wade grabbed the front and CG took hold of the back of the offending garment simultaneously. With one effortless, coordinated movement, the boxers ripped right down the seam and fell to the ground in two neat halves. “Oh my god, you two are kind of terrifying together,” Peter observed, half-hard cock twitching in interest from the casual show of strength and synchrony.

“You have _no_ idea,” CG answered for the both of them once more.

For the second time in as many weeks, Wade and his doppelganger set upon Peter with far too many hands and far too much skin for him to tell what belonged to whom. Three taco-favored fingers plunged into his mouth and stroked against his tongue and cheeks. Another of the multitudinous hands slid across his trembling stomach in order to wrap around his cock and stroke. The juxtaposition of achingly soft scar tissue and callus set Peter’s veins alight as he was pumped mercilessly. A surge of precome did absolutely nothing to alleviate the sweet ache of friction and he could do no more than cling to Wade’s broad shoulders and take all of it. Teeth and tongues meandered to every inch of skin available as if they sought to unravel him completely. The mercenaries worked him into a sweaty lather until he had all but screamed himself hoarse. Only then did Wade meet CG’s eyes and nod. The sudden addition of blunt but insistent pressure at Peter’s entrance made him flinch.

“Unless those fingers are auto-lubing the only screwing you two will be doing is gathering up your man-purses and fucking off,” Peter panted. Luckily, Wade was well versed in the art of manipulating the drawer of the side table and retrieving the bottle of lubricant stored there one-handed.

“Who says they don’t auto lube? I come from a crazy-ass universe, Mr. Vanilla Delight,” CG pronounced, ginning as he subtly opened the lube and drenched both his hand and the front of the sofa.

“Wait, wha…?” Peter began, unsure. He tried to turn in place and glance back at the hulking man behind him, but was stopped by the sudden thrust of two massive fingers into his body. “For the love of Bette Midler,” he whined through clenched teeth. A chorus of rich laughter rose up around him.

“You really are a lucky little shit, you know that?” CG stated incredulously to Wade while he crooked his fingers and pounded against Peter’s buttocks with his fist. “Yeah. You don’t know the half of it,” he responded simply, stroking Peter’s swollen cock in tandem.  

Inhaling mightily, the doppelganger slid his hand from Peter’s warmth, despite the protesting moan, and leaned back on the coffee table. He absently stroked his own dick and watched Wade’s eyes hungrily follow the purple cock head as it vanished and reappeared above his fist in an adulterated game of peek-a-boo. “Fine. Then why don’t you show me what I’m missing, Uglier-More-Stacked-Ryan-Reynolds,” CG growled, half plea, half challenge.

With uncharacteristic silence, Wade merely nodded once and shifted their positions so that Peter’s sweaty back smacked against the seat cushions and his firm thighs fell apart wide enough for Wade to settle between them. He greeted Peter’s surprised glance with a smile. “Hey, Baby Boy.”

“Hey, yourself,” Peter responded as fondly as he could manage while burning with embarrassment at being laid out on display. His wide eyes flitted over to meet CG’s intense stare, then followed the path of his tongue as he made a show of licking his lips.

“Hey, you’re gonna need this,” CG suggested helpfully, then passed along the sticky bottle of lube.

Wade accepted it graciously and removed one glove with his teeth in order to set about preparing Peter as if he were made of glass. The gentleness with which he coaxed Peter’s body to relax and allow him entry was made all the sweeter by Peter’s whispered adulations. He encouraged each additional finger with a grateful roll of his hips.

CG bit his lip fiercely and eased up on his own cock, instead softly rolling his foreskin and taking the time to explore his glans with his thumb. The fire that raged in his blood was banked sufficiently by the light touches to instead focus on the lesson being given to him.

Finally satisfied, Wade lifted one of Peter’s legs to find a better angle as he pressed his straining cock down to line up with Peter’s hole. He eased into him slowly enough to accommodate for the ache that Peter was surely feeling after going two weeks without being properly filled. The consideration was greatly appreciated if his breathy little gasps and clutching fingers were anything to go by. Wade leaned down and muffled a deep moan of satisfaction in Peter’s lips. Only when Peter brokenly mumbled a soft “I’m good” into the kiss did Wade sink in to the hilt and pause momentarily before starting to press forward with deep, rolling thrusts.

The pace they set was relatively sedate. Wade had been gone for so long and so often recently that he felt the need to draw out their time together. He needed to make a substantial enough memory of this tender intimacy to last him through the next sudden and inexplicable SHIELD job.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Peter admitted into Wade’s neck as he proceeded to leave a trail of kisses there. The longing in his voice set an answering curl of desire piercing through Wade’s gut. He groaned at the strange sensation and held Peter more tightly against him. “Missed you so much, Baby Boy,” he choked out in kind. They rutted together in a leisurely slip and slide, heedless of the company.

Wade’s back arced up into a shallow bridge with each thrust, then he lowered and settled their chests together once more as his hips retreated. The slow drag within him was enough to make Peter toss his head back and arc up to meet each lunge with an enthusiastically wet slap. They continued to make love unabashedly on the couch in the apartment they shared.

Meanwhile, CG sat stock still on the coffee table, riveted. His fist had stilled long ago and rested loosely around his persistent erection, forgotten. Every sweet gasp, every groan of encouragement was catalogued in his memory as if engraved in stone. If he hadn’t been given an open invitation to be here, he would have felt like he was intruding on something achingly private.

But, despite the need to diligently map each other’s bodies, Peter and Wade’s pent up drive for completion had begun to win out fairly quickly. Peter’s desperate pleas for more grew frantic. He clawed at the suit on Wade’s back and scrabbled to gain purchase on the sofa with his heels. Regardless, the mercenary fisted his hand in Peter’s hair and continued to hold him tight, never ceasing in his languid mission to break him apart and build him anew. Each stroke dragged the textured cock-head teasingly across Peter’s prostate but was never enough. He was being driven mad. As sweet as the overwhelming feeling of fullness was, ultimate satisfaction hovered just outside of Peter’s reach.

“Please,” he whined piteously, redoubling his efforts to push off of the couch and urge Wade to take him harder. Gnashing his teeth under the force of his restraint, Wade finally gave in.

He rocked into Peter’s body like a tidal wave and lunged time and time again with reckless abandon. His brutal ministrations were rewarded with animalistic grunts of pleasure. “Oh, oh, Wade,” Peter panted repeatedly as his head lolled and his eyes rolled back. It was only the near-painful grip of Wade’s fist in his hair that kept him grounded enough to even form words.

Precome stained Wade’s suit where it pressed Peter’s cock snugly between them. The friction of their bodies toed the line of pain, which only made the pleasure that much sharper.

CG could only lick his lips as Peter’s mouth parted silently in a surprised O. “Goddamn,” he whispered sympathetically.

And with that, Wade gave up all pretense of holding back. He canted his hips and unerringly aimed for Peter’s prostate with ruthless efficiency.

In a matter of seconds, the weighted wall of orgasm hung suspended before Peter, then crashed down on him with the subtlety of a roaring freight train. He let loose a litany of little “ah”s that escalated in volume until he was nearly screaming with the force of it. Without warning, Wade dove in to devour his exclamations in a searing kiss and followed him down over the precipice.

Silence reigned but for their heaving breaths and the lurid squelch of come as it oozed past Wade’s girth while he rode out the last vestiges of his own orgasm. His dick pulsed with the staccato beat of his heart, then finally stilled.

“Jesus tap-dancing Christ. Love you so much, Petey,” he managed to gasp out, collapsing bonelessly onto Peter’s chest.

“Love you too,” Peter murmured back happily and just as breathless.

CG continued to observe them with a quiet intensity. Despite the haze of orgasm still shrouding his mind and making his thoughts sluggish, Peter immediately zeroed in on the melancholic downtick of CG’s lips and the fact that the partial smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.   

“Hey, you okay?” Peter asked softly.

It took a long moment to garner a response.

“Yeah, I’m good,” CG finally croaked, though nothing in his body language supported the veracity of his statement. The stiffness of his posture and the tension in his shoulders immediately belayed the faux casualness of his words.

Peter reached across the divide between them and tentatively placed his hand on one of CG’s terribly mottled thighs. He thought ruefully that it must be a cosmological prerequisite for Wade in any universe to be emotionally compromised by anything tender.

“Wade?” he began, though it was obvious that he was addressing CG.

Brow furrowed, CG glanced at where Peter was interlacing their fingers, then met his gaze as if in challenge. “Yeah, kid?”

“Get your Right Said Fred ass over here.” With that, he used just enough of his super strength to yank the mountain of a man away from the coffee table and pull him down on top of him. Wade managed to languidly roll into the space between Peter’s side and the back of the couch just in time to avoid the flailing mass of limbs, leaving Peter to take the brunt of the impact with a grunt.

CG immediately attempted to scramble back off of the couch, cursing vehemently, but Peter used his superior strength once more and Wade assisted by flinging his limbs over them both like an overly amorous octopus.

“Let me go, Peter,” CG requested calmly once he realized that he couldn’t escape without causing damage of the distinctly permanent kind. Though, the steel-laden tone exposed the demand for what it truly was. Regardless, Peter met his glare and remained unmoved.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in that brain of yours, but if you don’t kiss me, and I mean right now, you and my web-shooters are going to have words,” he retorted. Expressions ranging from anger, to adoration, to abject fear flitted across the doppelganger’s face, lightning fast, until he finally looked over at Wade, lost. “I shouldn’t.”

Wade stretched hugely and curled in close enough to share their breath. “You really should,” he murmured.

“It’s not my place,” CG explained wearily. When he tried to push up and away once more, Peter clung to his broad shoulders instead and took the initiative to place a soft kiss to the Cupid’s bow of his lips.

At that moment it was as if the sluice gates had been wrenched open. Wade’s doppelganger flowed forth with all the rampant hunger and touch-starved need of a man shown a modicum of acceptance after having gone for so long without. This wasn’t just carnal reprieve the couple was offering, it was something much deeper. This was benediction. And so, CG channeled the totality of his lifelong suffering into one explosive embrace and sought the Tex-Mex flavored tang of approval in the depths of Peter’s mouth.

Their tongues explored each other so completely that the subtle combination of tacos and coffee would forever draw CG up short in the years to come.

While CG was distracted, Wade shifted onto his knees between his double’s splayed legs to more fully corral him. He kneaded the man’s buttocks, rewarded with a baritone groan, then insistently urged him to straddle Peter’s hips instead. The new position brought CG’s substantial cock up against the come-slick skin of Peter’s stomach and set his hips to rocking instinctively.

“That’s right,” Wade encouraged them both huskily. He traced the line of CG’s muscular back and urged his pelvis down even more forcibly against Peter’s own. “You two look good enough to eat,” he purred.

Peter’s breathy chuckle was only mildly inhibited by the tongue that explored his lips and mouth as if they belonged to it by right.

“Pretty-boy-me is right. You’re a fucking dream. An orally fixated dream,” CG pronounced, breath hitching as he finally came up for air.

“And you’re still an ass. An unredeemable ass,” Peter retorted just as breathlessly.

Watching the enticing flex of his counterpart's muscular back, Wade proceeded to ease CG’s legs even wider whilst taking pleasure in the graceless repartee. “Not gonna lie, there ain’t no better pairing than ass and oral,” he added while spreading CG’s buttocks wide and considering the tight pucker thoughtfully. He leaned forward slowly enough to telegraph his movements and, when CG didn’t protest, flicked his tongue experimentally over his anus. CG bucked his weeping cock into the press of Peter’s skin and absolutely savaged his neck in a flurry of sucking kisses as each swipe of Wade’s tongue grew increasingly more heated. When Wade finally pressed both his tongue and a spit-slick finger past the monumentally tight vice of CG’s sphincter, the doppelganger’s kisses turned sharp.

“If you leave marks I’m going to revoke your dimension hopping privileges,” Peter hissed against the pain of the blunt incisors that dragged across his collarbone. Beyond the ability to speak, CG merely groaned through a mouthful of flesh and arched his back to open himself further to the addition of yet another of Wade’s fingers.  

“Hey babe, do you think we could both fit?” Wade asked conversationally while he reclaimed his tongue and instead watched his gloved fingers disappear into CG’s fluttering hole.

Peter hesitated for a moment to decipher Wade’s meaning, sex drunk as he was, then dropped his head back to the sofa with a bark of laughter.  “We’ll have to experiment to be sure. For science,” he pronounced to the ceiling.

“For science,” Wade agreed with amused finality. Pausing only briefly, he tore off his remaining glove and gathered the pool of lube that had been poured onto the sofa earlier. He liberally coated both of his bare hands with a wild grin. CG bemoaned the temporary loss of the fingers within him, but groaned happily when they were replaced with three instead. A steady trickle of excess lube hugged his scrotum and made his thighs slip slide against Peter’s hips with each eager gyration. The careful, considerate pace had his jaw clenched tight and brow furrowed.

“Hey ladies, why don’t we stop with the imaginary tea party play time and drop that fucking bass already?” he snarled through his teeth as he shoved himself back forcibly onto Wade’s hand.

“You want the bass to drop, eh?” Wade asked with affected innocence. Taking advantage of the brief distraction, Wade slipped his free hand between their bodies to lube up Peter’s dick and realign it under the guise of stroking him. Without warning, Wade wrenched his lube-slick hand back and clamped onto the hips before him hard enough to bruise.

“You got it, Darude,” he pronounced as he shoved CG’s hips down onto Peter’s bobbing erection with impeccable accuracy. Peter’s cock slammed home in one seamless transition that made them both yell at the sudden, overwhelming sensation. CG’s jaw hung lax for a long moment while he simply sat and shuddered, impaled by the substantial girth of the cock buried deep within him. The resultant ache was an amalgamation of pain and pleasure so heady that it left him gaping.

“Bastard,” Peter cried out as he scrabbled at the massive thighs bracketing his hips, thrashing against the cushions in an attempt to keep the rising wave of fire in his loins at bay. Wade merely chuckled in response.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off the half-hearted malediction and rolled his eyes as he eased up behind CG. While Peter’s shivers died down, Wade ran his palms across his doppelganger’s chest and stomach in a soothing embrace that brought his straining erection to rest between the man’s slick buttocks. “How is it?” he whispered into his ear.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” CG managed to wheeze.

“Nah, not yet it ain’t. Open your eyes,” Wade ordered in turn. When CG did, he was brought up short. Peter lay taunt beneath him, eyes half-lidded and fluttering as he ground his teeth to keep himself at bay. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped down the furrows of his pectorals in a sheen that only emphasized his lean musculature. “Oh,” CG observed, awestruck.

“I’ll give you ‘oh,’” Peter hissed as he fought brutally to restrain his own need to thrust. “I’m really not going to be able to last much longer with whatever you’ve got going on here.”

CG laughed and allowed his head to drop back on Wade’s shoulder. “’S a real big fucking cock. Triggered my healing factor,” he explained simply. Confused, Wade grunted and eased one finger up alongside Peter’s shaft, raising his non-existent eyebrows at the strong, rhythmic contractions that he found there.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed, awestruck. Frantically feeling for the misplaced bottle of lube with one hand, Wade crowed at his quick success. He mouthed at CG’s still clothed shoulder, tongue lingering on the taste of metal and gunsmoke, and blindly poured the remaining contents of the bottle on and all around his straining dick. The sofa was going to need new cushions.

“Wade? I know what you’re thinking, but don’t you dare skimp on the prep!” Peter exclaimed, arching up from the cushions, only to be shoved right back down by a hand to the chest.

“I can take it,” CG rasped huskily at the same time as Wade retorted with “He can take it.” Outvoted, Peter screwed his eyes shut and flared his nostrils at the sensation of Wade’s familiarly textured glans and shaft nudging against the base of his own. It took a few tries before they were able to get the angle right, but once they had, the near painful squeeze and the steady peristaltic contractions of CG’s walls threatened to undo them. “This is going to be so embarrassing,” CG gasped, echoing the shared sentiment.

Somehow, Wade managed to grit his teeth and muscle his way into a more splay legged position to gain better leverage for his slow, shallow thrusts. The heat made between their writhing bodies was enough to thicken the air in the small apartment to the verge of suffocation.

Wade continued to piston his hips, rocking their conjoined mass with unparalleled stamina.

CG’s head lolled back against Wade’s shoulder and Peter couldn’t help but savor the sight of the sublimity of such a massive, powerful man brought to heel by wanton abandon. A single line of saliva hung suspended between CG’s trembling lips and shimmered in the late-morning light. With one final gasp, he blindly reached out for Peter’s hands and clenched them tightly as his hips began to stutter. But Peter could see that it wasn’t enough. He brought their conjoined hands around CG’s straining erection in a lewd imitation of prayer and worshipped him until searing hot ropes of come splattered against their stomachs, heralded by a raspy scream.

Watching CG’s cock continue to pulse a steady stream of milky come over his fingers pushed Peter past his own threshold. Pressure built from his toes to his head until he thought he might explode from the force of it. After a suspended moment of possibility, orgasm crashed through him, unyielding, and made his back arch from the power of his silent scream. Come seeped around Wade and Peter’s shafts in thick rivulets. “Fuck yeah,” Wade gasped, then bit down hard on CG’s shoulder and lunged forward one last time. His own release was a noisy affair filled with praise and grunted platitudes.

They moaned as one and spent a long moment simply relearning how to breathe and taking comfort in the post-orgasmic haze. Sweat made their skin slick in all of the places where they touched and eased the way for Wade to eventually slip out and make his way to the bathroom. When he came back, Peter was sitting upright with CG’s head nestled comfortably in his lap. “Mmm, thanks, babe,” Peter murmured drunkenly in appreciation of the cool towel that Wade ran down his body with gentle strokes. Wade answered by leaning in for a chaste kiss, then cleaned CG’s skin with the same level of adoration and care.

“I think I might get fucking cavities from all this after-care,” CG stated, bemusedly watching Wade work.

“Oh, shut it. Quit your bitching, or go find your own Spideypool experience,” Wade retorted in a teasing lilt.

Humming in contentment, CG closed his eyes and settled beneath Peter’s hand as it began to absentmindedly stroke his head.

“That’s actually what I was thinking,” he began. “Maybe I should stop getting’ my jollies off here and pop back to my place, you know? I’ve never been to New York in my dimension. It’s a pretty much an apocalyptic shithole. But who knows, maybe I’ve got a Baby Boy of my own there just waiting to be wooed with tacos and blowjobs.”

“Tacos, blow jobs, ridiculous pet names, pancakes in the morning…Peter Parkers are pretty easy to please,” Wade nodded sagely.

Laughing, Peter tapped his shin with a light hearted kick. “My tastes are much more nuanced than that, I’ll have you know.”

“Bullshit,” Wade snorted in amusement.

CG stiffly removed himself from the sticky sofa and stretched, taking pleasure in the satisfying pop of his shoulders. “Well, seeing how as I’m fresh out of messianic time travelers, I suppose there’s no time like the present,” he announced as he retrieved then settled his filthy suit back onto his hips and refastened it.

He laid a solid hand on Peter’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Turning to Wade, he savagely pulled him into a full frontal hug and smashed their lips together in a kiss that looked far more painful than alluring. Though, Peter couldn’t help but admire the aesthetic as Wade promptly gave back as good as he was given.

“Do I need to get the hose?” he drawled, bemused, as the two mercenaries' hands began to claw and scramble in a distinctly southerly direction. They wrenched away from each other with a lingering touch, broad chests heaving in sync.

“No need, Puddin’ Knickers. Just giving your asshole boy toy a brotherly goodbye.”

“There is so much wrong with that statement that I can’t even begin to deconstruct it,” Peter observed with a sigh. “I need another coffee,” he announced, elbowing his way past Wade to seek sanctuary in the kitchen. Though, as he passed, he allowed his hand to linger on CG’s chest and fall away. “Don’t be a stranger.”

CG unabashedly watched the sway of his retreating buttocks with a lopsided grin. “You do right by him or I’ll come back and wear your nut-sack like a beanie,” he stated, eyes still trained on the wall behind which Peter had disappeared.

“You know I will; that dorky little shit is the best thing in my life,” Wade scoffed. “Good luck finding your own, cock sucker.”

The building whine of CG’s teleporter was accompanied by a static crackle that danced across the doppelganger’s skin, casting it in sharp relief. He smiled wickedly.  

“With a body like this, I don’t need luck, dick swizzler. But thanks.”

Wade merely laughed and, once the bright teleportation afterimage had faded, trotted off towards the kitchen in search of his Baby Boy.

 

 


End file.
